My Blanket
by dancedude09
Summary: I rummage for a moment in the dark basket before hastily Summoning the magically woven blanket that Grandmum Molly gave me for my first birthday. LP2


**A/N:** This story is about Lily Potter, Harry's daughter, as a grown girl.

I hug my zip-up jumper just a bit closer and glance nervously around the deserted street. It's nearing curfew, and my neighbors have an annoying habit of snooping around for indications of bad behavior. At this age, I shouldn't worry anymore, but, still, I shoot a look over my shoulder, searching for any signs of life inside my stone house. It's hushed and peaceful as always, but I can't help but wish you'd be here sooner.

I rub my thumb over the ends of my plaits, a nervous habit that I've had since childhood, and bite my lip. My stomach is practically leaping bounds with the thrill of it all. I think briefly that nothing could be quite like this.

Shivering slightly, I check my watch again as the wind sweeps my exposed skin. We agreed to meet in Muggle clothing, something I much prefer to robes in the dry heat. Still, I pull the edges of my shorts and tug at the my sleeves in hopes that they'd elongate themselves.

I switch our picnic basket from my left hand to my right. I can't shake the feeling that Ms. Fritzy next door is peering out of her kitchen window, perfectly poised to fire call my father the second I step outside the white fencing. I try to breathe, thinking that James skipped out of the house loads of times without being punished. Yet, I am no James Potter, and my father is hardly as lenient on me as he was on James, the eldest and by far, the most barking.

I nearly give up on you, thinking that not all well-intentioned plans are completed as hoped, but then, I hear a small _pop _to my left and know that you didn't skive off on our night together. I turn, my heart racing with delight at the sight of your chestnut hair and wide, easy smile. I send one final glance to the quiet Potter estate before clenching your hand with my one free one. With another _pop_ we are dizzying away from Godric's Hallow and Ms. Fritzy, and I feel so liberated and happy that I could burst with joy.

The minute our feet touch the ground, you pull me to the shore and dance with the flirting, salty waves. I laugh, letting go of your hand before you topple us both over. I rummage for a moment in the dark basket before hastily Summoning the magically woven blanket that Grandmum Molly gave me for my first birthday. You grin at the sight of it; through the years, this old blanket was repaired and lengthened, and now, it holds pieces of my first set of robes, a square of enchanted fabric that will forever smell of my mother's perfume, a singed corner, bits of worn Quidditch robes, two small holes, one large hole, several ink blots, and probably, a few tears, but I love it, and so do you.

Because at three in the morning during my fifth year (your seventh), you caught me wrapped in it, eating a whole chocolate gateau by myself and crying over James's engagement news. You sympathized and informed me that your family could literally field a Quidditch team. I knew this of course: Your father and my father are friends, but you spoke so candidly, as if you too needed a good cry, about your five older brothers and younger sister that I didn't want to stop you. Besides, I didn't really want to eat an entire cake by myself.

You stumble, hugging my middle for support but pulling me close as if you had meant that all along. Maybe, I secretly hope, you did.

We spend the next hour easily munching our way through the picnic basket, my head laying on your broad chest, your hand intertwined with mine. You tell me of life with the Department of Magical Games and Sports, how it feels like you can breathe again with the World Cup finished, but how your job mainly will go back to documenting and hassling senior officials for their paperwork. I explain to you my anxiety of starting work at the Magical Law Enforcement Department. I worry that they won't accept me because they will think my father got the job for me. You remind me that both James and Albus got along fine in their first weeks and that I have virtually nothing to fret over, being Head Girl at Hogwarts does that, you say.

We sit in silence for some time more. The waves crash in methodically, and your chest rises and falls with their beating. I grin broadly and bury myself deeper into your soft shirt. Your toes brush with mine accidentally, but you soon are teasing me by flailing sand onto my legs with your foot.

I giggle, squirming away from you to avoid the oncoming tickle attack. If you were any other person, (Teddy included, who I have a notoriously large soft spot for) you would have been the victim of my famous Jelly-Legs Jinx which, I know, I have casted on you on other occasions, but I allow it just this once, just because we have not seen each other in nearly a month.

You collapse on top of me the minute I relent, and we are both breathing heavy. You tuck a stray lock of my red hair behind my ear and lean toward me. My stomach drops and my breath catches. Your bright blue eyes are searching my brown ones with a amorous look in them.

Then, you pull away, and suddenly, you want to chat about the stars. It may have been a childish thought, but for that fleeting moment, I had assumed, albeit stupidly, that you were going to kiss me.

We haven't kissed since the day you left Hogwarts. You had said that the distance relationship would be too difficult. You were going to Italy for six months to do field research, and I would be going back to school after the summer. We hadn't even told my parents-or yours-about our tryst. Albus had known; you told him one late night in your dorm. He didn't disapprove, but warned us of James's reaction, as if I needed a reminder of my eldest brother's overprotective streak. We renewed our friendship after that first summer apart. We both needed time to heal, I think; we sent letters and visited when possible over the next two years. I dated, and so, I suppose, did you. When I left school in June, you promised more visits and more "adventures."

I wanted a bit more, and I thought you did, too.

I was wrong, I surmised as I listen to you speaking of Orion's belt and his faithful dogs. Suddenly, I would rather be home, eating a chocolate cake alone in my kitchen. I sit upright and knock some of the sand off of my legs. The moon is glowing full directly in front of us, and I walk at it until I am ankle-deep in the ocean water. I turn and see you standing by the blanket, looking utterly perplexed. You come after me like you always do.

You grab my hand in yours and make me turn to you. You immediately notice the upset look on my face, I know, because you smooth the frown lines on my face with your thumb and break into a smile yourself. I never pictured you for the sensitive type when I would see you coming down from the Quidditch pitch with my brothers, but in our years together, I know that your heart practically spills over capacity.

"What's wrong, Lils?" You say softly, your face stretching into a lazy, wondering smile.

"Nothing at all." I try to smile, too, but find that I can't. My lower lip quivers: You are gathering me into your arms before I realize it, letting me cry on your shoulder as you have done so many times. You smell like you always do-like warm cinnamon and muddy quaffles-but it does little to calm me, just the opposite, in fact.

It takes many moments for my sobs to subside, and when I pull away, I am rubbing at my nose and embarrassedly laughing at the wet spot on your shirt. You swiftly take it off, revealing a white undershirt, and laughingly hand it to me. You wipe at my tear blotched cheeks and wade closer to me, the water rippling quietly behind you. I wonder briefly if anyone in within earshot of us, the dark night swallows the scenery whole a few yards away and makes it impossible to distinguish water from sand, trees from people. Then, as if it were a sneak attack, your lips are pressed into mine.

"Lily?" You whisper nervously at my startled look. I ignore this, returning my lips to yours. Soon, we are hungrily exploring each other's mouths as if for the very first time. You taste different, I think wildly as I tangle my hand in your hair. Your hand falls to my lower back, pulling me closer. I think that I have may have been wrong about thinking I may have been wrong.

"Lily Potter," you breathe when we part for air. "I'm in love you."

Somehow, I am not too surprised by this. Though I had all but given up on us completely just moments before, I can't help but think that these are the correct words drifting from your mouth. Finally, I almost scream.

I smile weakly, my eyes watering up again. "Alex Wood, I totally agree."

You kiss me again, and I feel like an entirely different person. New, sophisticated, whole-I'm not sure which I am- all of them sound right. I feel the same thrill of sneaking out that I felt earlier, only this is heightened far-past giddy. Quixotically, I imagine us getting married, rasing children the way that we said we would during those late nights in the common room.

Later, after you take me back to Godric's Hallow, I sew your shirt that I cried on into my blanket and think of how ingrained you are in my blanket. Then, I realize with a start, that I use you as my blanket just as often as I use it, and I smile, hoping that my father is pleasant to you when you get the nerve to ask premission to marry me.


End file.
